


Solstice

by helianskies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Antonio loves it deep down, Arthur is a dick, But love can beat that, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Ivan is actually a romantic, M/M, Opposites Attract, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 14:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16704343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies
Summary: The god of winter has gained some unusually strong feelings about the god of summer, and as time goes on, these feelings only get stronger and bolder.





	Solstice

I

He was the god of winter. He was not supposed to feel these sorts of things—especially not when they were so different—such polar opposites—but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Not even the ongoing argument he was sat in the middle of could distract him from the god of summer and his smile, his confidence, the way he looked at the god of water _knowing_ that he was winning this argument.

Ivan respected it so much—respected _him._

They did not cross paths that often, but, oh, he wished that they did. These meetings (which always seemed to end up in some form of cheap brawl between deities) was the only real time he got to see the cheerful brunette, but it wasn’t enough.

Two hours, four times a year, and it was never enough.

He suspected it was some sort of admiration of the other god that made him crave simply his presence; whenever he walked into the room, he was followed by that slight warmth and those floral fragrances that stuck to him all year around like cheap perfume—but it was _good_ cheap perfume.

The god of summer laughed at something that the god of water had said. His face had lit up and Ivan could have sworn he saw a butterfly flutter from some unknown place amongst those chocolate locks, and the room grew warmer and cosy. That man, he told himself, was no god but an angel. He was a treasure amongst old metal scraps, the crown jewel…

And he only wished that he could find it in himself to speak to him freely, without needing these meetings, without having to worry about the formalities of being an immortal, because more than anything, Ivan saw a friend in the brunette.

A very important friend.

II

Now that summer had come about, the god who monitored the season was out in the mass gardens that harboured every single plant the human world below possessed, and he was tending to the rainbow of flowers that littered the land.

Antonio loved this time of year. He was free to wander the greenery and take his time in looking after the world’s garden—Eden, he liked to call it—with the care and precision and dedication it needed. Other gods hated him for it, naturally. The god of water, Arthur, particularly saw him as an idle idol (ha, bastard), but Antonio could only take it in his stride.

He was, after all, one of the Big Four who kept the world spinning. Kiku in the spring, himself in the summer, Matthew during the autumn days and Ivan throughout the winter.

Ivan was an interesting character, he contemplated as he walked barefoot across the soils, butterflies dancing in the air around him. He was intimidating from a distance, seemingly as cold as his jurisdiction, but in truth, he was nothing more than a giant teddy bear to the smaller brunette. A misunderstood sweetheart.

Not that he had ever said so to anyone, and the realms forbid, Ivan himself.

But still, it was true. He would sometimes catch those lavender eyes during one of their infamous meetings (he loved the smell of lavender…) and found it amusing how they would flicker away to some other spot, pretending that they hadn’t been sneaking a look.

In all fairness, Antonio didn’t mind. Whatever Ivan had found so interesting simply made him more curious about the enigmatic winter-god; what do you want to know, he would picture himself asking Ivan during one of their rare encounters, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.

 _But why_ , he would then ask himself. Why would he be so willing to just provide a perfect response to any question that came his way, and why from Ivan in particular? Why not anyone else? Alfred pestered him frequently about his work, curious to know what it was like to ‘work’ for only three months a year rather than several hours every single day (the burden of being the Sun, the blonde had called it), yet he had not been so readily indulged.

Water started to fall down from the blue skies above and Antonio continued to walk as the ground grew damp and clear beads began to cling to his skin. This was Arthur’s doing, of course. He was trying to distract the brunette, make him run for cover.

“Joke’s on you, Arthur,” he said to himself as his smile became modest, hands clasped behind his back. “I _love_ the rain…”

III

“Have you started your plans for your season, yet?” Ivan was asked as he ambled through the many corridors of home with Matthew at his side.

“Not yet,” he replied, “though I should start quite soon. Summer is almost over.”

“Five days,” Matthew nodded. A red leaf fell from his hair but neither of them took any notice; it joined the sparse trail that marked out their route. “I’m looking forward to this season. I think everyone can appreciate the extra hour of sleep we’re implementing, eh?”

“That is very, _very_ true,” Ivan said with a faint chuckle.

Summer was almost over. It had been a good run, he had observed from his corner of the gods’ mountain home, a palace that overlooked the fields and river and forests that were the foundation of the flat human world they governed. It was a pastime of his, really: to watch the other seasons at their work in the gardens, though, of course, summer was always his favourite.

He had noted more recently that Antonio was spending more time outside than he had at the beginning of his season. Making the most of what little time he has, Ivan had decided, making the most of the sun and the energy he would gain.

Still, it had been fun to observe the brunette going out there each day, early in the morning, tending to the flowers and talking to them, watering them, lying amongst them during the short break he allowed himself, and chatting away with the animals that had come to populate the vast region over the past few centuries. An angel, indeed.

“Oh, look,” Matthew’s voice piped up out of nowhere. Both deities stopped in their tracks and two sets of lilac eyes saw the same person entering their hallway. “I wonder what Antonio’s doing inside at this time of day…”

“Who knows…?”

The brunette was a far way down the hall, seemingly speaking words to no one but himself and the pair of butterflies that had accompanied him indoors, and he appeared to be completely and utterly soaked. Oh dear, Ivan thought, was Arthur back to his old tricks so soon?

“Hey, Antonio?” Matthew called out to the brunette. Perhaps he had realised the same thing Ivan had, and maybe he was just as deflated by such a notion.

Antonio heard his name the second time round and they watched as he glanced at them, a smile slapping itself onto his face as he gave them a wave. “Heya!” he called back, already beginning to walk towards them, ignoring the watery trail behind him. “How are both of you? I haven’t seen you guys around much!”

“Good, thanks,” Matthew replied with a smile and a nod (a much softer smile, Ivan noted). “What about you? You look like you’ve been… Having fun outside…?”

The god of winter saw something flicker in his polar opposite—nothing too strange—just a flash of annoyance, but that was understandable—and he wondered if his hunch had been rather precise. Brown tendrils once wild and free had become plastered to tanned skin and all the goose-bumps that had risen, and raindrops decorated him from head to toe.

And yet, he did not lose the happiness in his eyes.

“It’s the end of the season,” Antonio said dismissively, “which means Arthur’s making the most of me being outside to have his fun.”

“You really shouldn’t let him get away with stuff like that,” Matthew told him. “What if he drowns the plants and accidentally, you know, _kills_ one?”

The brunette paused. It appeared that the very idea of it made him want to curl into a ball and rock back and forth in the corner of a large, white-washed room. “Then Earth’s ecosystem suffers the consequences and loses yet another one of its species,” he replied, a disturbed glint in his irises. “And Arthur will regret it.”

This was different. This was not the person that Ivan recognised from the quarterly meetings, nor from out of his window that overlooked the flower fields. He would have called him simply protective over his work had it not been for that small, implied threat knitted on the end of his words…

Yes, there was more to Antonio than the smile, the confidence and his pride, and whilst Ivan knew that both he and Matthew were aware of it, he didn’t doubt that he was the only one who wanted to know more.

IV

It was the time of year when he began to feel the cold nipping at his skin, tormenting him, reminding him that he had many months to wait now before he could get back to work in the glorious sunshine that gave him life.

Was it a surprise, then, that Antonio preferred isolation when the world grew so frozen?

Autumn was a beautiful season, he would never deny it. He adored every single hue of yellow, orange and red that painted the forests and their floors as the trees shed their decoration, in fact. He loved the smells, the crunch of the leaves… But beyond that, there was nothing.

His flowers began to die. His friends, the animals, began to leave the garden in preparation for the coming winter months. Even the butterflies that had kept him company over the past twenty weeks had vanished to some unknown place, lost in the night to a silent song.

Antonio would never had labelled himself as depressed, but he certainly lacked the same energy and life that he had possessed only a week before.

And that was why he preferred to keep away from the other gods at this time of year unless it was absolutely, one-hundred percent necessary that he was present at a meeting, for example. He hated to make his vulnerability visible. He hated that others could see how the bitter cold would get to him, irritate him. He hated not being the god overflowing with warmth and joy any longer.

“I brought you some wood, for the fire,” a voice said after its owner knocked on the door of his wing. The door opened and a familiar face stuck his head through with a humble smile. “I figured you’d be wanting some soon.”

The god of summer smiled back at the god of the forests and welcomed him inside the room with a grateful air about him. “Thank you so much,” he said, taking the minimal collection of cut logs that Tolys had been able to carry upstairs single-handedly. “I could’ve done this myself, though, you know.”

“I know,” the other brunette said, “but I also know that this probably suits you better. Right?”

Antonio laughed and hummed. “Right.”

Tolys was a friend. Tolys was a person he could rely on. He was kind and caring, but strong and bold when it was needed. He was also hard-working and charitable, always giving the four seasons a helping hand when they needed it, and for something like that, not even all of the thanks in the world felt sufficient enough to give.

“Will you be coming to the social ball,” the forest-god questioned from nowhere as Antonio piled up the wood by the large fireplace. He looked up from his work with a mildly confused look. “It’s next month, I hear.”

“The annual one?”

“No, no,” Tolys answered, “that’s usually during Kiku’s time. This was something Matthew thought would be a good idea. A way to welcome the cold.”

But Antonio didn’t really want to welcome the cold…

V

Was this really a good idea? Ivan didn’t know, he wasn’t that big on social events and mingling with all of the other gods and goddesses if it wasn’t a matter of great importance. If he wanted to have fun and relax, then he would stay inside and read, have a drink, watch the world they guarded over through the mirror and make sure everything was still in working order…

No, he decided, he would not go to the ball, he would not indulge Matthew’s idea, and he would certainly not hesitate to shut it down if it got too loud.

And yet, three hours later, Ivan had been magically whisked from his high tower and was amongst the very crowd he had tried to avoid, regretting that he had ever opened the door to Alfred and Gilbert, and longing for his bed and thick sheets.

Sleep, he pined. He needed sleep.

Ivan was stood somewhere to the side, a glass of autumnal punch in his hand, unloved, unwanted, and he had done little else but people-watch for the past half an hour. Alfred and Gilbert had abandoned him fairly quickly, considering it was their fault he was there, and though he knew he could leave, something seemed to hold him in place, as though he needed to be there.

“Crap— Sorry,” a voice muttered, Ivan saying nothing back as the small, anonymous god continued to walk through the crowd.

He sighed. Punch had sloshed out of his glass and onto the floor, but it wasn’t like he was going to clean it up. That wasn’t his responsibility. Besides, he mused, it wasn’t as though he wanted the drink in the first place.

The music grew louder and more intrusive. Alfred must have taken over at some point from Matthew in terms of organisation, the party transforming into a much more modern kind of party very slowly, and Ivan cast an uninterested, tired glance to the wall of stained glass to his right—the installation that gave the room its seizure-inducing rainbow flares only made deadly by the fearsome lights that the god of the Sun had decided to turn on.

He saw something move at that moment, when vibrations began to rise through his feet and legs and chest. Something on the other side of the glass—something or someone moving along the corridor and then—outside.

Seeing it as an excuse to leave above all else, Ivan decided to depart and figured he may as well investigate. The last time he had ignored something like this, after all, he had unwittingly allowed one of the world’s animals roam the corridors and—to put it gently—use some of the furniture as scratching posts.

Ivan had taken a disliking to lions ever since.

But this was not an animal, he came to realise as he ventured into the corridor, towards the open veranda doors and out into the crisp, cold air of the night. There was no lion, nor any other beast. There was only an angel, walking far away and down towards the fields, the late autumn winds wrapping around his unprepared skin.

Antonio was going to freeze, the idiot.

Normally, he would leave another god to it. If they wanted to walk outside like this at such a silly time wearing the minimal and basically offering themselves up as bait to the short bought of pneumonia, then that was their own choice. But Ivan felt compelled, this time. He wanted to know what Antonio was doing, why he was doing it, and why in all the realms’ names he was doing it wearing his summer toga.

“Antonio,” he called after the brunette, using his longer legs and longer strides to his advantage, “Antonio, wait for a moment, please—”

“Yes, Ivan?” the shorter said, blunt, to the point, turning slowly to look at the other deity with a confused but also somewhat annoyed look on his brow. It was too odd to see. “Can I help you with something?”

“Well, I— I was just wondering what you are doing outside, I suppose,” Ivan replied.

“Right now?” Antonio said. “Work.”

“But it’s Autumn—”

“That does not mean the work is done and that I should ignore something that I can fix,” the brunette reasoned, and just like that, he continued on his way.

Ivan was taken aback. This was so unusual—so unheard of, so unseen—it was quite alarming to see this coming from the other. He did not get to see Antonio so often when this time of year came around, and now he was beginning to understand why: the brunette’s demeanour seemed different, changing with the weather, and he lacked, above all else, that warm smile that made him stand out amongst the rest of the collective.

“If you want to help, you’d better keep up,” Antonio called over his shoulder.

The god of winter took that as his cue to beginning hurrying after him once more, wondering if that smile would be seen again that night.

“Where are we going?” he questioned once they were stood beside each other, feet moving to the same rhythm.

“To the woodland border,” came the answer, followed by an unimpressed-sounding elaboration: “Normally this would be something that Matthew, Elizabeta or Gil would deal with, but since everyone is so busy _partying_ , they’ve numbed their senses. So here I am instead.”

Elizabeta was the goddess of nature, Gilbert, the god of wild animals, so Ivan tried to think of what possible reasons there were for such a late-night venture outside. Something to do with animals above all else, he had to conclude, but what?

Well, he found out shortly after, when Antonio told him to be quiet and stay at a further distance, and Ivan watched in confusion and then awe as the brunette approached a large animal with caution, assertion and compassion. It was a bear. It was a bear, and it seemed to be injured… And Antonio appeared to know exactly what he was doing...

Ivan was lost for words. He daren’t get much closer—he was warned against it by Antonio with a raised hand and a silent stare—and could only observe the calm way that Antonio approached the animal, asking for permission, before he was able to touch the animal’s fur and check it over.

This was it. This was what made him so _sure_ of this person, so amazed by him, and, perhaps, even enamoured. He knew how to be kind, but he knew how to be fierce. He could be gentle, he could be cunning, he could be funny, and he could be the most mature of the entire collective when the time called for it.

And if that was not something to admire and appreciate, then Ivan would declare the world blind.

VI

Winter was well under way. The frost had come back with an extra ferocity this year, staining the land and the empty fields with its clean, crisp white, and terrorising any brave soul that dared to venture outside.

Antonio had not been that brave a soul ever since that night during the previous season, when he and Ivan had crossed paths and he had been able to help the bear with its strained muscle (thankfully, it had been nothing more serious) before departing for the warmth of inside once more.

Come to think of it, Ivan hadn’t spoken to him all that much for the remainder of the night that they were in each other’s company. At first, Antonio had found it simply odd and off-putting, wishing he could be alone again, but after a while, it had grown amusing to see the normally reserved, powerful god unable to form any kind of sentence, whether out of choice or not.

Since then, they had come together a little more frequently for a little bit longer each time. No one had said anything nor seen anything, of course, but Antonio was not bothered either way—what mattered to him was that the usual numbness that he gained during these frightful months had started to wear way. They had been replaced with comfort and amicability.

He liked Ivan.

It was something that had felt so unnatural for him to even contemplate at first. They had never been compatible in any shape or form, and even though Antonio had always tried to be friendly, it had been hard to create any sort of actual connection with the god of winter. And yet now, there they were, chatting together animatedly in front of a fire, their friendship blooming as a winter snowdrop.

“No, no, no,” Ivan said, shaking his head (his hair always looked so soft…), “if someone was going to swap with me, the last person I would pick would be _Gilbert._ ”

“But why?” Antonio responded, bemused, his smile resting comfortably on his face. “He likes winter, you like animals—what could possibly go wrong?”

“ _Many things._ I mean, can you _imagine_ all of the snowball fights that madman would enforce on us each year?”

“Forget snowball fights,” the brunette concurred, “we’d be seeing an entire army of snowmen descending on us as soon as November began!”

“Exactly!”

Antonio laughed at the way Ivan’s arms were flung into the air, the other’s more childlike side peeking out from underneath his thick scarf, and the way his voice grew so much louder and passionate as more words had left him. Yes, he mused, he was truly an interesting character—and growing more interesting by the minute.

“So who _would_ you pick?” he asked instead. “You’ve said no to Alfred, Mathias, Arthur and Gilbert, and I’m at a loss.”

“Well,” Ivan began, slowly and pensively as he brought his energy levels back down, “it would need to be someone I can trust to not mess up all of the natural order, to begin with. Someone responsible, someone understanding… Someone who is calm, in control… Strong and bold, to deal with the shit the season dishes out…”

“ _So someone like…?_ ”

“Someone…” He paused, and then their eyes met at the very same second. “Like you.”

“Like me?” Antonio repeated, surprised. “Why me?”

“Because you are all of those things I have mentioned, yes?” Ivan answered solemnly. The room seemed to grow a little warmer, but Antonio didn’t spare the fire a glance to check it wasn’t spilling out; he was too curious. Too… “You are all of those things and more.”

He didn’t understand what Ivan meant by those words. He couldn’t quite comprehend what things he may have been implying or suggesting, but the thing he did notice was the way that Ivan looked at him. It was a gentle gaze, charmingly accented by the lavender of his eyes, but it was so full of what appeared to be admiration and sheepishness, that Antonio had no clue how to respond.

Not coherently, at least.

“Ivan, I—” Nope, try again. “I-I don’t under—” Dammit, no; third time lucky! “You’re going to have to explain, I just don’t…” Wait, why did he seem closer? “Under…” Definitely closer. “…stand…”

The other deity had closed the gap between them with Antonio almost not realising it, but now it was an undeniable fact: Ivan was right next to him and their eyes still looked at each other, both sets asking questions of different kinds, searching for answers that they couldn’t find, and Antonio had made a frantic excuse to leave before more could be said or done, escaping the room and wondering as he walked: _was that the right thing to do?_

VII

Christmas.

The humans liked it as a holiday tradition where gifts and love were exchanged between friends and family (and those who meant more), and the immortals, fond of the celebration, had adopted the very same tradition around a decade ago; now, trees filled the big halls and forums, silver decorations dangled from wherever they could go, and ochre lights illuminated the rooms that grew darker earlier than in the prior months.

Ivan had spent the past two days not worrying about any of his duties. No one had challenged him about it, of course, and it wasn’t like there was any obvious difference in the progression of the season, anyway, but… He had grown far too engrossed in trying to work out what he had done wrong, and how to make up for it—how to say sorry to the angel he let fly away.

Though he had often waited and wandered, hoping he would cross paths with Antonio once more, he had not been so lucky ever since that evening spent in front of the fire, talking like friends that had known each other since childhood. It had crushed a part of him until Ivan thought that—maybe—just maybe—a Christmas present was in order.

It had taken some time to think of what to do, what to produce to suit someone who was of summer, of the warmth—of everything that Ivan was not, so he would say.

In fact, it had come to him only the day before when walking the lands and the sparsely spread essences of life that had started to grow and bloom.

Scabiosa.

A rather bizarre and frankly unattractive name—admittedly so—but they were a winter flower that had begun to blossom, and when he looked at the buds and pastel-coloured petals, he was reminded of Antonio caring after the summer florae like they were his own children. Like there was nothing else as important in the world.

So, in the spur of the moment, he may have cheated and Earth’s scabiosa flowers may have gone into bloom a couple of weeks early (with the help of Elizabeta, to his surprise, who hadn’t even asked why he was doing it), but it was a simple and unnoticeable change to the remaining deities.

Packed with the young branches of the pine trees and an array of hellebores in all sorts of purple hues, Ivan was happy with the floral arrangement. He had never done anything like this before, and it was safe to say that he had received a few puzzled looks as he made his way through the immortal complex, bouquet in hand, up towards wherever it seemed Antonio had shut himself away.

“Hello?” he said upon knocking on the door to the sanctuary. “Antonio?”

It was the day before Christmas Eve. Should he have waited? Oh, but he _couldn’t_ wait—because the flowers would die, because he wanted to see Antonio as soon as possible, and because the very same brunette had just opened the door— _hello—fuck—_

“…Ivan…?”

They looked at each other and it took a few seconds for Ivan to remember why he was there. He was just a bit lost in the forest he was staring into, and— He held up the bouquet with a reddening face, trying to hide it in his scarf.

“Merry Christmas,” he greeted, watching anxiously as Antonio’s gaze fell to the flowers and he slowly took them from Ivan, cheeks as pink as the small scabiosas.

Antonio looked back up at him, hesitant. “Thank you…? But why—”

“I do not know,” Ivan confessed, voice slightly muffled by the fibres of his scarf. “I want them to mean something, but that meaning is… Well, it is up to you.”

He had not expected the grateful hug that had followed.

VIII

They held hands as Spring was welcomed back to the realms, and Antonio gave a supportive squeeze as Ivan waved goodbye to his beloved season for another nine months. The gesture went silently appreciated as, in the crowd around them, celebrations began and Kiku and his springtime helpers got straight to work on readying the next cycle.

“It was a good one,” the brunette reassured him, looking up at him with a smile.

“Really?” Ivan said.

Antonio hummed. “I have never enjoyed a winter quite as much as that one.”

Spring meant that the god of summer had to begin planning for his own forthcoming run. Antonio had departed from Ivan, promising to meet with him in the afternoon, in order to get an earlier, organised start on his work.

Even as he walked, he began to map out in his mind the flowers that would require extra attention that year following the handful of scares that had come the year before in the form of mysterious wilting, a small bug infestation, and a hungry deer. Still, that was what his job was, between keeping Alfred in check as the days grew longer and making sure that the weather gods didn’t get too adventurous and experimental.

And then, as if on cue, he felt rain start to spittle down from the—ceiling above? Antonio was indoors, so this was extremely odd, but then he spied a familiar head of blonde hair and his face felt flat. Arthur was back at his old tricks, and Antonio knew better than to indulge the proud bastard.

“Forget your umbrella?” Arthur’s voice called from somewhere behind as he decided to take a different path to his room. “Did you forget that spring means more rain?”

“As humorous as ever,” Antonio threw back over his shoulder, albeit half-heartedly compared to their usual tiffs. The rain drops were cold on his skin, his face, but he did his best to ignore them. “Glad to see that the frostbite didn’t steal away your tongue.”

Then there was a laugh. “You mean like Winter stole _yours_?”

Antonio came to a steady halt, a frown marring his features. He turned to look at Arthur, puzzled, and even more so by the cocky, pre-emptively triumphant look on the blonde’s smug (punch-able) face. “ _Excuse you?_ ”

“You heard me,” came the reply (very, very punch-able) as Arthur drew nearer, voice lowering by only a single decibel. “Rumour has it a certain god of winter has been shoving his tongue down your throat lately. Care to elaborate?”

The brunette was mortified. “I don’t know what you mean—” he tried to defend but he had gone pale, and to Arthur, that was the same as a confession.

“I never really thought you were that kind of person,” he rattled on, quite clearly relishing the mayhem and anxiety he was inducing in Antonio. “A sub, sure,” he added like salt, “but for _Ivan_? You must be seriously desperate.”

Antonio was marching himself away within a few seconds, teary eyed and fuming, his hand slightly stinging from the impact it had made with Arthur’s slanderous face.

IX

“People are getting suspicious.”

Antonio didn’t need to say any more for Ivan to fully understand and appreciate his concern, but at the end of the day, his attitude was: so what? They were gods, they were eternal, and that meant they had as much a right to happiness as the humans in the layers below. So what if some of them thought it was unnecessary? Ivan and Antonio hadn’t, and that was all that mattered, right?

“Then let them,” he replied, watching tirelessly as the brunette attempted to pace away his stresses and thoughts and nerves. “You spoke to Francis, yes?”

The other stopped in his tracks. “Yeah.”

“And?”

A huff. “He couldn’t see a single fault—”

“Then there you have it!”

“—but that doesn’t make it any easier to— To walk around, see these faces, and pretend it’s all normal!”

This conversation had happened twice before, funnily enough; the first time, Antonio had gone straight to him after apparently slapping Arthur for being the usual idiot he liked to be, and the second time, it had been late at night when he hadn’t been able to sleep because of whirring, conflicted thoughts. Both times, Ivan had been able to reassure him that everything was and would be fine and they had found comfort in each other’s arms. This time, he was hoping that the result would be no different.

“Antonio,” the taller said, grabbing the other’s verdant gaze and trying to imbue it with relaxation and calm, “has anyone other than Arthur said anything to you, in person, about our relationship?”

The brunette held the gaze. Ivan watched him think and swallow down his pride. “No…”

“So who do you think is out to try and stop us, hm?”

No answer came, and as he saw the growing conflict in Antonio’s mind spread to his face, he put out his hands for the other to take as a peace offering, which he did, and he pulled the other towards him. His tanned skin was always so soft, like a child’s, but his hands were still trembling to the slightest extent as Ivan held them. He looked up at him and gave him an empathetic look.

“I understand why you may be worried, Tonyo, but—” A slow, pensive breath. “If this is something that you are unsure of or do not want, then you need to say, or—”

“I do…”

“—we will—” Ivan waited for Antonio to repeat, having missed the almost silent words, but he had to prompt for it in the end with a gentle tug, a squeeze, and a concerned look. “Yes…?”

“I do,” the brunette spoke up. “Want it— Want _us_.”

“Then, _solnyshko_ ,” Ivan assured him, a kind, serene smile lifting onto his features, “we have nothing to be afraid of.”

X

Antonio felt an arm drape over his side in the early hours of the morning as sleep continued to evade him, and the smallest of grins came to him as he tried to not laugh at the words being drowsily mumbled into his hair. Ivan had become a much more interesting character over the past few weeks, he decided.

Thoughts about work were to blame for his insomnia that night. Work, the people who filled the work space, and all of the things that had supposedly left their mouths behind backs, behind closed doors. It felt as though he was in a school amongst children—pre-pubescent teens who would say anything to cause trouble—and he was the favourite toy.

Arthur had not backed down all that much. Finding puddles in his room or not having any running water coming to his taps was a fairly common occurrence these days. Once, the blonde had even messed with the temperature settings and tortured the brunette with a suddenly frozen shower that had given him palpitations, he would swear it in front of the entire board.

But even so, Ivan had been there constantly through it all.

A rock, was what he thought of him as. His rock, his anchor, his anti-depressant. He was all and any of these things as any given time, from dawn until dusk and all the time in between, and Antonio had been unable to stop himself from questioning how such a warm, loving man was essentially the representation of such a cold, cruel season.

He found himself snuggling closer to Ivan under their sheets. His skin was still colder than his own, but there was something soothing about it that he couldn’t quite explain. Sometimes it gave him chills and shudders—but they were the good kind, he would assure Ivan in the morning when he showed concern for how Antonio was not quite as warm as he had been the previous night—and other times it made him feel even warmer than before.

Science of some strange, unbeknown kind, Antonio imagined.

“I love you,” he eventually said to the walls, to the bed, to the other person lying in it with him.

He didn’t receive a response, but he didn’t need one.

He already knew what Ivan would say.

XI

It had gone too far at that quarterly meeting. Spring was nearing its end and the final preparations for summer were supposed to be the topic on the table—but no. A certain someone had had other ideas, and Ivan had found it difficult to stay out of the conflict this time.

Arthur.

Of course it was; giving Antonio grief was all the guy seemed to live for these days, besides his job, and it had apparently seemed like a good idea to casually announce _on their behalf_ that Ivan and Antonio were seeing each other clandestinely.

This had led to questions from various directions and angles. The other deities were asking if it was true, were their suspicions thus correct, how long had they been at it for, how in the realms did they of all people get together—

Ivan had gone to silence it. He rose from his seat, ready to remind everyone _exactly_ why he was known as Winter and that he—no, _they_ —were entitled to their own privacy—but he was beaten to it by the one person he had intended to defend and protect from the onslaught of libel.

Antonio kissed him.

Right then and right there, suddenly pulling the taller god down by his scarf so he could close the gap between them, Antonio kissed him shamelessly.

The faint, sweet taste of oranges lingered on his lips as he tried to comprehend what had happened. What— Why— But in the end, Ivan had only been able to smile in that same love-struck admiration of that November night in the woods, as the room was silenced, Antonio told them all to focus on their own sad love-lives, and he was dragged out of the room by an incredibly charming man.

XII

 _I make the decision_ , he reminded himself. _Arthur can’t tell me when I can and can’t do **shit**._

The puddles and faulty taps had become less frequent, but the odd, conniving, sly look that the blonde gave him whenever they passed each other in the forums and halls continued to plague the brunette on a day-to-day basis. Ivan had told him not to worry about it—that it was at last summer and he was supposed to be enjoying it.

So that night, Antonio had decided that that was exactly what they were going to do.

It had been hard at first. This was their first time actually doing this together despite what everyone else thought, and the suggestion had made them both a little more coy and boyish in their behaviour. Such was their romance—neither wanted to disappoint the other, nor did they want to put pressure on anyone.

Stripping each other down had been a sport in itself. It had its sensual moments, the addictive chills running gently—slowly—down his skin as fabric was slipped from his form, but it had also had its clumsy moments that had caused laughter and lip-biting and then, at last, a ‘fuck it’ attitude and a collision.

Lips had moulded together with ease, matching puzzle pieces in the jigsaw of their union, and hands had quickly grown adventurous and confident in their movements running up and down backs and legs and introducing nails and faint red marks into plush, warm skin. Antonio had liked that sensation in particular. There was something so carnal—so _naughty_ —about it, and he prayed for it to continue with their rhythm.

It did.

He had started out underneath, pushed down and overwhelmed by just how much Ivan truly seemed to love him, littering him with kisses and sweet nothings and telling marks. To feel so adored like that was foreign. Sure, humans loved summer, but _this_ —this meant someone loved him for who he _was_ rather than who _he_ was…

Somewhere along the line, nevertheless, Antonio had managed to find his own strength in his passion and had turned the tables across the large, cloud-like bed, landing on top of Ivan with a sly, indulgent and proud smirk. Ivan seemed just as impressed. Infatuated.

Antonio had given him similar treatment, quite naturally—he loved him up and down and he discovered that he made quite the good tease, too—before deciding that he couldn’t take it much longer. They were both feeling it, they be both longing for it, they were both asking it without a word leaving their mouths— _will you love me harder?_ — _will you let me touch you?_ —and a mutual understanding was silently reached.

They watched each other, wanting the moment to be intimate and shared between themselves, only the walls as their witnesses, and as soon as that first bit of contact had been made, Antonio knew what true bliss was. He wanted it—he needed it—and Ivan did not hang around and make him wait for too much longer as he tried to ease the brunette into the act of having proper, committed intercourse.

Pain and ecstasy blended together, even when Ivan had removed his cold fingers, and Antonio savoured every second that he could still feel the gentle tingle of the frost inside of him. Even as the other reached for their small, untouched bottle of lubricant and prepared himself as thoroughly as he could imagine it to be done, he held onto the feeling.

He knew at that moment that he didn’t want to ever say goodbye to it. That he wanted that feeling either right there or close by forever.

“You definitely want to do this?” Ivan asked him at some point, fracturing Antonio’s focus on that _damned_ feeling.

“ _Ivan_ ,” Antonio breathed, pushing the colder one down against the cushion pile, lust in his eyes and his heart and his soul. He positioned himself ready, so close he could _feel_ that feeling calling his name. “I want you,” he said. “All of you—now, tomorrow, and for all the time beyond. No one else has ever made me feel like this before and I— I want to be able to treasure it..."

A hand came to his cheek, a smile to his gaze. “So do I,” the most interesting being in existence told him, and for Antonio, that was all he needed to hear before he sat down on his icy throne and their long reign together began.

**Author's Note:**

> N'awww, I love my babs~
> 
> This was basically self-indulgence if you couldn't tell. I have a thing for this pairing, it's rare to see, and I wanted to add to the hole to try 'n' fill it.
> 
> Sue me.
> 
> Or alternatively, appreciate this giant teddy bear and his little sun, and pipe down.
> 
> And yes, the Earth is flat in this universe because I didn't want to deal the hemispheres. Sue me some more, I dare ya!
> 
> Anyways, if you liked this then lemme know because I'm thinking of producing more one-shots like this, but it takes time and motivation - I want it to be worth the effort :'v (and of course, not all literally 'like this', but, at the very least, you can bet your butt that Antonio will be in every single one of them owo;)


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